I'm Fine (Help Me)
by J.Doodle221B
Summary: When John stays at 221B for the week, he comes to realize what happened to Sherlock during his hiatus and that Sherlock desperately needs help as he deals with the aftermath. Not Johnlock. Mentions of drugs and torture.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. This makes me sad :(_

John woke up in his bed and looked around in shock. Mary was away for the week with friends so John was staying at 221B for the time being. He heard it again. A whimper of pain coming from the living room. He cautiously got out of bed and walked through the kitchen and into the dark living room. He could vaguely see Sherlock asleep on the sofa. So where had that noise come from? He turned around to go back to bed as it was only around 3am when he heard the whimper again. It was coming from Sherlock. He approached his friend switched on the light. Sherlock was paler than John had ever thought possible and his curls were falling into his face. He held one arm around his torso and the other ne was in a defensive position. He was shaking and mumbling things. Nightmare.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, mate, wake up." John said, softly.

"Get 'way." Sherlock mumbled, waving his arm.

His shaking was getting more violent and he was tossing and turning, fretfully, on the sofa. Not good.

"Sherlock, wake up!" John said more firmly.

"I did what you said. Don't shoot them." Sherlock groaned.

"Shoot them? Sherlock snap out of it!"John shouted.

He placed his hand on Sherlock's shoulder and Sherlock's red-rimmed eyes snapped open and his defensive arm grabbed John's wrist.

"Sherlock!" John gasped.

Sherlock looked at John in surprise and worry. Two options came to Sherlock as he realised John was looking at him with his doctor's look. Ignore or flee.

"Go away, John." Sherlock snapped.

"Are you okay, mate?" John asked.

"Of course I am. Stop with the nonsense and go back to bed." Sherlock lied.

"Sherlock, I'm not an idiot, I'm a doctor. Why are you holding your torso like that? Are you in any pain?" John questioned.

Sherlock quickly removed his arm and turned his back on John.

"I'm fine. Go back to bed." Sherlock grumbled.

John studied his friend. He was lying in an awkward position to avoid contact with most of the sofa. He had been squinting in pain before he'd turned around and he'd been almost doubled-up.

"Right, shirt off." John demanded.

"What?" Sherlock choked.

"Shirt off. Let me see what's causing you pain." John explained.

"No." Sherlock said.

"I'm not messing about, Sherlock. I'm your doctor and I need to see what's wrong to make you better." John replied.

"Nothing's wrong." Sherlock lied again.

"Sherlock!" John shouted.

"John!" Sherlock shouted back.

"Why won't you let me help?" John asked.

"Because you'll leave when I show you." Sherlock yelled.

"Try me." John replied.

Sherlock scowled and stood up. He threw off his blue dressing gown and his grey t-shirt and left John speechless. Sherlock's body was covered in red and brown whip marks, surrounded by blue, black and yellow bruises. Where he'd been holding was a large red cut that looked angered and irritated.

John gasped and his hand flew up to his mouth.

"See?" Sherlock said.

His tone shook ever so slightly and his blue-green-gold eyes held pain and shimmered with tears that he was holding back.

"Sherlock." John whispered.

_A/N Constructive criticism welcomed. _


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: I still don't own Sherlock :( This fact makes me sad._

"_Sherlock." John whispered._

Sherlock drooped his head, his curls falling into his face as John's knees turned to jelly.

"What? Sherlock, why didn't you tell me?" John breathed.

"You would've made me go to the hospital." Sherlock replied, hoarsely.

"Yes I would've because you clearly medical attention." John confirmed.

"Mycroft already had someone look me over." Sherlock tried to reason.

"Mycroft knew about this? How did you get these...marks?" John questioned.

"During the time I was dead." Sherlock answered, still not looking up.

"I-I thought that you were dismantling Moriarty's web." John stuttered.

"I was. This happened because of that." Sherlock said, holding no emotion in voice.

"Can I treat them?" John asked.

Sherlock nodded, his curls bouncing. John grabbed his doctor's bag and sat Sherlock down on the sofa and began to clean the cuts. Sherlock hissed as the liquid connected with his skin.

"Sorry, it's going to sting." John apologised.

John's guilt burn furiously in his chest as he examined every cut, bruise, burn, whiplash and chain mark. How could Sherlock let him pin him to the ground and almost strangulate him when he was in this state. He wished he'd reacted differently. Sherlock could feel John's stare and it made him want the floor to eat him. He'd never had that feeling before and he hated it. He'd tried to stop the men from doing it but he couldn't. He'd failed. Sherlock Holmes had failed. Was John angry at him?

"I'm sorry." Sherlock said.

"What are you apologising for? You didn't ask for it. You did it to keep me, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade safe." John replied.

So John wasn't angry at him. Human emotions were hard to figure out. Emotions were pointless. In the end you'd always end up sad. Once John had finished he pulled his shirt back on and turned away from him. John sighed and got up into the kitchen and made two cup of tea's, slipping a sleeping pill into Sherlock's.

"Drink it." John demanded.

"What did you put in it?" Sherlock questioned.

"Nothing." John lied.

Sherlock was too wired to check so he drank the tea. John was glad that five minutes later the battered detective was in a deep sleep on their sofa.

oooOooo

_He was chained from the walls. The whip connected with his skin for what felt like the hundredth time. Begging would be useless. They fed on his pleas. Each of the men had a twisted pleasure for injuring the restrained man. The handcuffs were bound in barbed wire which scratched and pierced his ivory skin. Moriarty's web was extensive, built up over the years and trained to hate him. Trained to torture him in any way possible. Trained to break him. Cigars were pressed against his skin and they chuckled with glee as he whimpered. Attempts to escape from his restrains were feeble and resulted in a beating with metal capped boots. He was losing all feeling in his fingers and the pain that shot through his body was blinding. That day he saw Mycroft sat on that chair, watching him, he thought it was over. It wasn't. Mycroft sat there for almost four hours before freeing him. Everything after that was a blur._

oooOooo

John was checking his blog when he heard Sherlock cry out in his sleep.

"Stop them!" Sherlock begged, quietly.

"Sherlock, wake up." John demanded in a firm doctor voice.

"Myc, stop them." Sherlock pleaded.

Mike? Who was Mike? Did he mean Mike Stamford because what was he going to do.

"Mycroft, please." Sherlock begged.

Oh. This went far deeper than John had thought. Mycroft had been there and John needed answers.

_A/N Thank you for reading and thank you Suealpacamama for reviewing the last chapter. Cool name. Until the next chapter..._


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N Thank you to those who reviewed, followed or favourited. I know I'm a terrible person because I haven't updated in forever but I was super stumped at what to write. So I shall be making this chapter up as I go along so sorry for any mistakes in advance._

John had got Mrs Hudson to watch over Sherlock and he had stormed out into the streets of London to go and find Mycroft. He took a cab to Mycroft's mansion and was let into his office after talking to endless secretaries.

"Doctor Watson, what can I do for you?" Mycroft asked in his smug voice.

"I've seen Sherlock's scars, burns, bruises and God knows what else."John stated.

"Oh." Mycroft mouthed.

"Yeah, oh. What the hell happened?" John demanded.

"Sherlock was dismantling Moriarty's web. He ran into a bit of difficulty where he acquired those marks." Mycroft replied.

"He was calling your name out in his sleep, asking for you to help him. What were you doing there?" John questioned.

"I secured a position inside of the web and waited until I had full trust then helped Sherlock escape. It took time but I got him out alive." Mycroft answered.

"Time? How much time?" John asked.

"He had been held by them for two days before I found out. I flew over to Serbia and worked my way up Moriarty's business. It was a month before I was allowed in to see Sherlock with a large number of guards. He recognised me immediately but didn't say anything. I had to sit there and watch him get hurt but if I made a move then, we'd both be dead. It took three months for me to finally sit in pairs to watch him. It wasn't until another month that Sherlock got the other man to leave the room and we were alone. I freed him and we escaped. He collapsed once we were in the safety and I had multiple doctors check him over. Believe me when I say this, Doctor Watson, but Sherlock was in a much worse condition in Serbia than he is now." Mycroft explained, twirling his pen around in his hand.

"That's five months, Mycroft!" John gasped.

"I am aware of that." Mycroft nodded.

"Jesus." John breathed.

"Please look after my little brother, Doctor Watson. I've seen him get hurt too much." Mycroft said, regret filling his eyes.

John nodded and left his office. Five months of torture. It wasn't until John climbed into the coal black cab that it dawned on him. It wasn't only the physically torture that John would have to help heal. There were also physiological ones. It hit him like a ton of bricks when he realised that Sherlock would never be the Sherlock Holmes he once knew. Sherlock Holmes had changed.

_A/N Thank you all for reading this chapter. If you have any suggestions just PM me or drop them in the reviews as I'm open to input. Until the next chapter..._


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N Sorry, I'm a horrible person for not updating in forever but from now on I'm going to update at least once a week if possible. Thank you to everyone who favourite, followed and reviewed. Bold is texts for this chapter._

The next day Sherlock was sat in his chair with his hands under his chin as John sipped his cup of tea. Now that John was aware of Sherlock's injuries he noticed that Sherlock's movements were stiff and he squinted in pain, although he did try to hide this. Sherlock was pulled from his thoughts when his phone began buzzing with the sound of his text alert.

**Case if you're interested –GL**

"John. There's finally a case." Sherlock beamed.

"Are you sure you're up to it?" John asked with concern.

"Of course I am. Why would I not be?" Sherlock questioned.

"You can barely move." John reminded him.

"I can." Sherlock protested.

He stood up and put his coat on as normally as he could but the pain was clear in his eyes.

**Address? –SH**

**Queen Anne's Street –GL**

**Be right there –SH**

"I've texted Lestrade so now we have to go." Sherlock replied.

John rolled his eyes and slung his coat on and followed Sherlock out of 221B Baker Street and his friend called down a cab. Soon they were at the crime scene and Donovan was waiting at the police tape.

"Hello, Freak." Donovan sneered.

"Nice to see you too, Sally." Sherlock replied.

"Got the Freak, bringing him up." Donovan informed her walkie-talkie.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and Donovan led him and John up a steep set of stairs. She noticed that Sherlock was holding onto the banister which he never normally did but she didn't question it. John shot a concerned look to his friend and earned the trademark death-glare in return.

"Sherlock." Lestrade said.

Sherlock circled the body of a large man, dressed in leather with a knife through the brain.

"His name's Tony Roberts, aged 36, he owns a motorbike shop a few roads away. Was dating Kimberly Knight and she has been informed. There's no signs of a break in and every door and window was locked." Lestrade explained.

Sherlock noticed a slip of paper poking out of a studded pocket. He carefully pulled it out and in swirly black writing which was clearly not Tony Roberts' handwriting. On the front it said _Sherlock._ He turned it over and there was a note for him.

_Ready for more, Sherlock? Hope you are, Be ready :) –M_

"Sherlock?" John asked.

Sherlock noticed there was a slight tremor running through his hands, causing the paper to shake. His face had gone paler thank his usual complexion and panic was clear on his face. He thrust the note in John's hands and fled the crime scene.

"Oh my God." John breathed, reading the note.

"What?" Lestrade asked.

"Moriarty." John replied, passing the note to Greg and leaving the crime scene to find Sherlock.

oooOooo

Sherlock hid in the large white house of Lauriston Gardens and pulled his knees up to his chest. He focused on steadying his erratic breathing and his eye darted about, scanning every shadow and sound. He ran his shaking, pale hand through his coal black curls. He traced a scar on his wrist from a worker of Moriarty. The shape of the scar was clear. _M._

_A/N I know this chapter is very short but I've tried my hardest. Please review, follow and favourite. I live on them! Until the next chapter..._


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N Thank you again for the favs and follows._

Sherlock looked towards a section of the wall. It could easily be removed and he knew exactly what he had placed behind it. Cocaine. Just one little shot to slow down his thoughts that swirled around in his mind. But could he really do it? To John? To Lestrade? Even to Mycroft? He closed his eyes and thought of happier times.

Flashback

_3 year old Sherlock Holmes had begged for months for a puppy and now his parents had finally agreed. Mycroft was not as thrilled. When they got home the young, silky red Irish Setter had decided the best place to sit was on Sherlock's mass of unruly dark curls._

"_What are you going to call him, Lock?" His Father chuckled._

"_I'm not sure." Sherlock admitted._

"_How about Fluffy?" His Mother suggested._

"_No." Sherlock dismissed._

"_How about Nuisance?" 10 year old Mycroft sneered._

"_How about renaming you nuisance?" Sherlock retaliated._

"_Boys." Violet Holmes warned._

_By this time the little Irish Setter had clambered down from Sherlock's head and was now nudging a fake sword that Sherlock played pirates with. He accidently hit the table and Sherlock's pirate hat fell onto the puppy's head._

"_Redbeard." Sherlock breathed._

"_What did you say, dear?" Violet inquired._

"_Redbeard. The puppy's called Redbeard." Sherlock smiled._

"_That's ridiculous!" Mycroft disapproved._

"_You're ridiculous. He's called Redbeard." Sherlock insisted._

"_Whatever, Lock." Mycroft brushed off._

End of Flashback

That had been one of the best days of his life. Redbeard had been his companion from the age of 3 until he was 15 years old. Mycroft had moved out when he was 9 years old and he was admittedly lonely without his older brother who had always provided some sort of friendship and then he was gone and he had grown more dependent on Redbeard. He had friends at school who prized his deduction talent that they had then regarded as a party trick for it was brilliant being able to tell what their teachers were like, but Sherlock knew that Redbeard was his best friend. The day Redbeard died he had cried for days and that was unheard of for Sherlock. When the car hit Redbeard, he'd screamed and screamed and...

He was thinking bad memories again. Sherlock knew he had to get out of the thin corridor before he took the drugs but he couldn't. He was shaking like a leaf and was in no state to stand, let alone walk out of the dimly lit building. He ran his hand through his hair and brought his pale, shaking hand into his deep pocket and pulled out his phone. He scrolled down his contacts and found John's name.

oooOooo

John had caught a cab back to Backer Street and burst through the flat door.

"Sherlock?" John shouted into the flat.

John searched the flat top to bottom and didn't find Sherlock. He was about to go and ask Mrs Hudson if she knew where Sherlock was when his phone began buzzing. He looked at the screen and saw the name Sherlock.

"Sherlock? Where are you?" John asked.

"Lauriston Gardens." Sherlock replied with a shaky breath.

"Are you okay?" John questioned.

"I'm fine." Sherlock lied.

"Don't lie to me, Sherlock." John warned.

"Help me." Sherlock breathed.

The line went dead and John brought the phone away from his ear. He sprinted out of the door and hailed another cab.

"Where to?" Asked the cabbie.

"Lauriston Gardens." John replied.

oooOooo

The room was spinning as Sherlock tried to breath. It was like an invisible hand was clutching his chalk white neck and squeezing every ounce of oxygen from his lungs out of his body. How had Moriarty managed to have this effect on him? He prized himself on chasing after the most frightening killers that the world had to offer but Moriarty had got to him. Found a way to break him. Snap him like a twig. Crush his sole. He rested his scorching hot head against the cool grey stone as he attempted to fix the damage in his Mind Palace that was spreading like wildfire. He tried to keep the walls of his Mind Palace from crumbling as Moriarty's image projected in his brain. Then he felt a comforting hand on his shoulder. Not a cold, hard one like in Serbia before a beating, but a warm friendly one that would help him out of the nightmare that he was locked inside of. He heard his name being called out but it was echoy and difficult to hear. He focused his scattered attention on the voice as he tried to pull his mind out of the spiralling wreckage.

oooOooo

John flew out of the cab and ran up to the front door of the pristine white building. Slowly he opened the door and peered into the dark abyss of the house.

"Sherlock?" John called.

He heard shallow, fast and shaky breaths from the end of the long corridor and he flicked the light on. John saw Sherlock sat up against the wall with his eyes squeezed tightly shut. He looked paler than death which made his hair look as black ebony. This didn't look good. Sherlock looked like he was having a panic attack. John switched into doctor mode as people referred to it and he slowly put his hand upon Sherlock's shoulder.

"Sherlock? Sherlock can you hear me?" John asked.

There was a slight pause before Sherlock replied with a nod.

"Try to stay with me, mate. Can you say something?" John inquired.

"Yes." Sherlock confirmed.

"Good. Now concentrate on your breathing and try to stay here." John instructed.

"I'm obviously not going anywhere." Sherlock replied, his voice still weak.

"True." John smiled.

"Make him go away." Sherlock suddenly pleaded with a child-like innocence.

"Make who go away, Sherlock?" John questioned.

"Moriarty." Sherlock whispered.

"He's not here, mate. It's the thought of him that's scaring you so try to think of something else." John explained.

There was a few minutes of silence as Sherlock breaths became deeper and more steady. He slowly brought his hands down to his lap that were previously intertwined with the rich black curls and focused his blue-green eyes on his hands.

"Do you need anything?" John asked, softly.

"221B Baker Street." Sherlock smiled, weakly.

John smiled back and helped Sherlock onto his feet and steadied him. They stayed still for another few minutes before Sherlock felt confident enough to walk. John helped Sherlock out of the house and onto the paved street. He hailed a cab before helping Sherlock climb into it.

"Where'd you guys like to be off to then?" The cabbie inquired.

"221B Baker Street." Sherlock and John replied, simultaneously.

They laughed as the cab drove down the dark streets of London, pushing the thoughts of Moriarty's return to the very back of their minds.

_A/N I worked very hard on this chapter so I hope you all liked it :)_


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N I said I was going to update every week so this counts, right? Anyways, big milestone for me. I have surpassed 10 reviews. Thank you to everyone that has already reviewed because I was grinning like an idiot and I even did a girly squeal. Now before I begin let's just appreciate that my PE teachers name is Ms Sherlock. I want her last name. Now here's the next chapter and I hope you guys like it..._

The cab pulled up outside 221B Baker Street and Sherlock could've sighed with relief. Not that he'd ever admit it but the panic attack had made his extremely tired. He just wanted to get into Baker Street and throw himself on his bed, hell, the sofa was closer. John quickly paid for the taxi and help Sherlock through the black door. He was still a little shaky and was persistent that John didn't have to help him but the loyal doctor ignored him.

"Oh, Sherlock, what have you done?" Mrs Hudson asked him when they entered.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock inquired.

"The police are upstairs again." Mrs Hudson frowned.

Great. The one time he was actually considering going to sleep the police show up. Sherlock and John stormed up the stairs and entered the living room which was currently being ransacked with Lestrade sat in Sherlock's chair.

"I'm clean." Sherlock stated.

"You can't run off from a crime scene without telling us what this note really means." Greg scolded him, holding the note in his hand.

"So you decide to search through my things?" Sherlock questioned.

"Not exactly. It's another drugs bust." Lestrade smirked.

"I'm not on drugs!" Sherlock claimed.

"Oh really? Why do you have all of this medicine then? Is it prescribed?" Donovan asked, motioning to the various bottles and pills that sat in the kitchen cupboard.

"Their prescribed you moron." Sherlock snapped.

"Prove it." Anderson said, appearing next to Sally.

Sherlock glared daggers at them but knew he had to prove they were prescribed. He went over to the bookshelf and pulled out an old green book and held up the various prescriptions. Sally and Anderson went to grab them but Sherlock held them away from them.

"You've seen the prescriptions." He said.

"No we've seen paper. So us the writing, Freak." Sally replied.

"No." Sherlock spat.

"Why?" Anderson questioned.

"Because it's none of your business." Sherlock answered.

"This is a drugs bust so we need to make sure these medications are prescribed because all we know right now is that you have drugs in your house that you could be taking without Doctor's orders." Anderson explained.

Sherlock glared at them again and reluctantly placed the prescriptions in John's hand. John quickly read them. Anti-depressants, sleeping pills and silver sulfadiazine (which John knew was for serious burns) along with some other things.

"There prescribed," John nodded. "Who prescribed them?"

"Mycroft's doctor or whatever. I don't even remember." Sherlock relied.

To everyone else that sounded like he simply didn't care who it was but John knew what it really meant. At that time he was in too much pain to even know who was treating him.

"Give them the prescriptions and tell me what the bloody hell this note means." Lestrade demanded, standing up and using what Sherlock called his 'DI voice'.

Sherlock simply took the prescriptions from John and onto the table before taking the note from Lestrade's hand.

_Ready for more, Sherlock? Hope you are, Be ready :) –M_

_"It means Moriarty is not dead. It means he's coming back. It means that he's assembled another web after I took two years to destroy his old one." Sherlock replied, angrily._

_"He's coming back? And what does he mean ready for more?" Lestrade inquired._

_"Oi, Freak. Why have you got anti-depressants, sleeping pills and burn stuff?" Sally questioned._

_"Because of Moriarty. Whatever you may think I was not away for two years having fun, even if Mycroft's first words to me in English after I went to destroy the web were 'Sorry, but the holiday is over.' I could've punched him for that." Sherlock explained._

_"If you'd have told me that I wouldn't have refrained from punching him when I saw him." John replied, now angry with the oldest Holmes._

_"We should both punch him." Sherlock suggested._

_"Sherlock, what do you mean?" Lestrade attempted to get the convocation back on track._

_"The note is saying that Moriarty is coming to hunt me down and continue what he was doing in Serbia." Sherlock replied._

_"And what was he doing in Serbia?" Lestrade inquired._

_"Torturing me." Sherlock said._

_A/N Not sure how I feel about this chapter so please let me know how you feel. I know the writers of Sherlock have said that Moriarty is dead but it's fanfiction, the World of imaginations *rainbow magically appears*I hope no one was too OOC in this. Hope you guys liked it. Until next week..._


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N And here is another weekly update as promised. No reviews for my last chapter :( Was it really that bad? I did gain a few follows and favs so thank you all for that. This chapter is Mycroft centric because who doesn't love a bit of the British Government? So here we go._

5 Months Previous

Mycroft unchained Sherlock's wrists and his little brother fell immediately to the ground.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft asked, a hint of worry entering his voice.

"I'm fine, just get me out of here." Sherlock snapped.

Mycroft helped him to his feet and they snuck out of the room. They fought off several guards in order to get out and as soon as they left the underground building they ran as fast as their legs could carry them. Mycroft had a Jeep parked a few metres away with paramedics and Anthea inside, waiting for them. They were almost there when Sherlock let out a small cry and collapsed.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft gasped, holding his brother.

There were 15 guards now chasing them so Mycroft did what he hadn't done since Sherlock was 7. Carry his baby brother. He skilfully lifted Sherlock into his arms and ran to the car where the paramedics immediately took over and Anthea sped away from the Serbian underground torture building.

"Malnourished, dehydrated, B.P severely low, pulse is shallow and very slow." One medic listed.

Sherlock was hooked up to countless machines that were all making different noises that scared Mycroft but kept his cold and calm exterior. They torn what was left of Sherlock's shirt off and Mycroft felt physically sick with the amount of lashes, stabbings, bruises and scars littered his brothers ivory skin. Cuts were seeping with his crimson blood that flowed onto the white material which was the paramedics uniforms. Mycroft sat down in the passenger seat and looked at Sherlock with his face showing no emotion.

"Where are we going, Sir?" Anthea asked.

"Private jet straight back to England." Mycroft decided.

He avoided looking at his little brother who was possibly dying at the hands of the Serbian tortures. It took a fretful two hour drive to the private jet which Sherlock and all the medical equipment were carefully loaded onto it.

"Are you okay, Sir?" Anthea questioned, briefly looking up from her phone that never left her hands.

"I am quite alright." Mycroft lied through his teeth.

He distracted himself by talking to the boring goldfish which were the other governments over text, trying to prevent a war again. He'd had a few calls from his parents who were aware that Sherlock's suicide was a hoax, asking if they knew what Sherlock was up to but he ignored them. Suddenly, an erratic beeping came from one of the machines that were attached to Sherlock's torso.

"He's going into shock." One of the paramedics called out.

Mycroft turned and all he saw was his little brother, still small, big eyed and curly haired. Sherlock had been a premature baby and every day after school he, his Mother and his Father would go to the hospital and stand around the incubator and look at his baby brother. As soon as his Mother had uttered that his name was 'William Sherlock Scott Holmes' Mycroft took to calling him Sherlock. After a while his parents took to calling him that too. Every time they had to leave baby Sherlock in the hospital he would whisper, 'I love you, 'Lock.' And now, his little brother was dying in front of his eyes and all he could bring himself to say was that, under his breath.

Once they landed in England, London Sherlock was taken into Mycroft's house where they had a mini hospital set up for him. They could not take him to a real hospital as Sherlock was still technically dead. Mycroft left the doctors to tend to Sherlock's wounds and he went to have a very important video call with another foreign government official.

oooOooo

Mycroft had been talking to the mind-numbingly dumb official for just over four hours when Anthea came running in.

"I'm sorry, Sir, I won't be a moment. Excuse me." Mycroft said before muting his side of the computer and turning to Anthea.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Sir, but Sherlock is shouting and thrashing in his sleep." Anthea explained.

Mycroft typed a quick message saying that there was an emergency and he would call back very soon and hung up the call. He followed Anthea up the stairs and as he approached the door he heard his brothers pained shouted. He walked into the room and Anthea waited outside and went back on her phone.

Sherlock was tangled in the sheets and his curls were falling in his tightly closed eyes. He looked like he was in agony. The caring part of Mycroft wanted to run up to his brother and scoop him up in a hug but he refrained. He walked over to his brothers bed and sat down on the side of it. He tenderly stroked Sherlock's springy curls out of his ivory face and shushed him like he had when Sherlock was a mere baby.

"Shh, 'Lock. It's okay, your safe now." Mycroft whispered.

"Myc. Why dn't you h'lp me?" Sherlock begged, still in his sleep.

Guilt twisted in Mycroft's stomach and he felt physically sick, wishing there was another way he could've gotten his brother out sooner.

"I did help you 'Lock. Your safe now, your back in England." Mycroft tried to reassure him.

"Their going to kill me, Myc!" Sherlock whimpered, still asleep.

"Shh, shh. Their not here. You're safe. No one is going to hurt you." Mycroft said, just stopping his voice from wavering as he was overwhelmed by the immense sorrow he felt.

Sherlock was quiet again, apart from the occasional slight cry or whimper. Mycroft cradled his brothers head and curly mop of hair and rocked him gently. Something both of them would never dream of happening if Sherlock was awake and Mycroft wasn't drowning in his own guilt.

"I love you, 'Lock." Mycroft muttered in his little brothers ear.

_A/N I hope you all enjoyed this chapter centering the one and only Holmes Brothers. Please review or PM me if you would like to see a chapter from someone else P.O.V such as John, Molly, Lestrade ect ect. I gave it my all with this chapter so I hope you all like it. Until the next chapter..._


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N In England it's the holidays. Whoo! That means more time on FanFiction. Here's another chapter and this time not at the end of the week but at the beginning. Please R&amp;R this chapter._

John had finally convinced Lestrade and his drugs bust to clear out and Sherlock would be going into the Yard tomorrow to tell them about the note. He and Sherlock were left alone in 221B. Sherlock was sat in his chair but his eyes were focused on something that only he could see and he wasn't moving at all.

"Sherlock, maybe I should call Mycroft." John suggested.

"Why would you do that?" Sherlock asked, not moving his eyes away from the spot he was focused on.

"Because he's your brother." John replied.

"Yes he is but he's rather annoying. You don't have a brother, take mine. Free of charge." Sherlock said in his deep baritone.

"Sherlock." John warned.

"I don't want to talk to Mycroft. Why would he care?" Sherlock questioned.

"He cares." John confirmed.

"No he doesn't." Sherlock retaliated.

"What makes you think that?" John inquired.

"He's always been a rubbish brother." Sherlock stated.

"I doubt that." John frowned.

"How can you doubt it?" Sherlock asked.

"Prove how he's always been a rubbish big brother." John said.

"He told me stories that gave me nightmares, he'd ignore me, he'd tell me that my dreams were nothing and that I'd never amount to anything. He went to college at age 15 and I was only 8 at the time so it felt like I barely knew him. When he was 20 and I was 13 he got a position in the British Government and my parents moved to America so I had to move to London with him. He was never around and I had to figure everything out myself, any problems I'd have to work them out myself and there was no one to go to my Parent's Evenings so I'd always be given letters to give to Mycroft about how badly behaved I was in school but he's never see them because he was always far too busy for me. I was an inconvenience. He was the smart one, I was the stupid one." Sherlock explained, his blue-green eyes never leaving John's dark blue ones.

Wow. When Sherlock had been 13 and practically doing everything on his own, he had been 18 and just moving out of his parents. He was doing his training at St Barts with Mike and his life was going fairly well. They hadn't even found out that Harry had a drinking problem yet so he slept soundly. Now was not the time to dwell on the past though.

"But he's been a great big brother in other aspects." John reasoned.

"Like what?" Sherlock questioned.

"Who got you out of Serbia?"John asked.

"Mycroft, but first he sat there and watched me be beaten to a pulp." Sherlock shot back.

"Not the point. Who stopped you being arrested for faking your own death?" John asked.

"Mycroft, but if he didn't my Mother would've killed the both of us." Sherlock replied.

"Again not the point. Who supplies you with Government cases?" John inquired.

"Mycroft, but he doesn't have to. I don't need those cases." Sherlock answered.

"Those cases prevent you from shooting holes in Mrs Hudson's wallpaper and bring in even more cases through the website, your phone and your email. He may have once said that you'll never amount to anything but giving you classified cases just proves that he knows he was wrong. He makes sure that you're protected because without him you would've been dead before we'd even got the chance to meet. He might not be the best big brother but he's certainly not the worst." John explained.

Sherlock stood up, visibly wincing but both men pretended not to notice that. Sherlock took a few of the pills he had been told to take and he nodded t John.

"Goodnight." He said before disappearing into his room.

John sat back in his chair with his cup of tea and sighed. Maybe he would call Harry if she was sober. She wasn't the best big sister but she certainly wasn't the worst either. When he'd returned home from the war, Harry had been stood on the train station platform and ran towards him and hugged him. She'd been sober for a whole month after he returned to England. Then she had some trouble with Clara and she started drinking again. He'd call her tomorrow and see if she was okay. He fired off a quick text to Mary along the lines of 'I love you and can't wait for you to get home xxx' and downed his mug. He put it in the sink as a tomorrow job and retreated into his room. Why were siblings so hard to understand?

_A/N And here is another chapter. I have siblings and I'm sure a lot of you do too and we all know how frustrating they are but how much we love them at the same time. Hope you all enjoyed it and please review to let me know how it is. Constructive criticism is welcomed. Until the next chapter..._


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N Errrr I'm not dead. I am soooo sorry that I haven't updated in ages but I had super bad writers block. I kept coming up with ideas but they never really flowed. I was just hit with an idea so I sprinted to my laptop. Let's begin..._

* * *

Sherlock lay on his bed, following the swirls on the ceiling with his eyes. John had gone to work and none of the cases he was being offered were interesting enough. If someone was going to commit a crime, could they make it a little more interesting?

He sighed and stood up. His vision swam as his head spun so he held the wall for a few moments before proceeding. Grabbing his blue dressing gown and throwing it on, Sherlock made his way into the kitchen and completed the mundane task of brewing a cup of tea. A little more sugar than recommended. He'd always had a sweet tooth.

Quickly downing the sweet tea, he threw himself onto the sofa. His mind was taking in every little detail such as the rhythm of the water dripping from the sink and how many cars passed the flat every minute on average. Sherlock mused about shooting the smiley face on the wall but the sound of the bullet connecting with the brick reminded him too much of...his experience so he decided against his old habit. Maybe he should ransack the flat for cigarettes? But then he remembered John removing them from their hiding place and disposing of them away from Baker Street.

He shifted on the sofa and realised that his back was stinging and it would most likely be a good idea to apply the cream he was prescribed to his wounds. Sighing, he got up from the sofa, grabbed the cream from the cupboard and returned into the living room. Sherlock threw his dressing gown onto his chair, along with his grey pyjama shirt and applied the cream. His front to the fireplace and his back to the door. The stinging and tingling sensation that travelled through his body distracted him from the familiar footsteps of Mrs Hudson walking up the seventeen stairs and into 221B with John and Sherlock's mail. She stepped in and gasped and the sight of Sherlock's back. Sherlock spun around at the gasp and pure horror was displayed on his face as his blue-green eyes connected with Mrs Hudson's teary brown ones.

"Sherlock." She whispered, her voice cracking.

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply but worryingly, he could find no response.

"My poor boy." Mrs Hudson cooed, tears running down her face.

Sherlock quickly put on his dressing gown and tied it before looking at Mrs Hudson threw his curls.

"I'm sorry." He said, softly.

"Sh, sh, sh, oh Sherlock. You have nothing to be sorry for." She reassured him, guiding him to the sofa and pulling him into a motherly hug whilst rocking him slowly.

Sherlock didn't know what was happening to him. He could usually hide them so easy that it was like he had none at all but Mrs Hudson was like his second Mother. It was so hard to lie to her but he'd always make sure she was safe, whether it was from a burglar to a sniper. He would never let anyone hurt Mrs Hudson. She looked after him; made sure he ate, slept and had clean clothes to wear. Now she knew about the scars and she didn't need to worry about him more than she already did. If she knew all the dangerous things he had done, it would probably give her a heart-attack and send her straight to the grave. Their relationship was like a Mother and Sons.

"Does it hurt, Sherlock?" She asked with concern.

"Yes." He admitted, still unable to lie.

Mrs Hudson shifted him into a more comfortable position and rested his head on her lap and ran her fingers through his thick curls as he calmed down. The poor boy was trembling and his eyes were almost overflowing with salty tears. His breath kept getting stuck in his throat, like a child trying to stop crying and it broke her heart. As her broken detective calmed down her mind ran through all the possibilities of who gave Sherlock those awful, awful wounds. She wanted to say Moriarty but he was dead. Wasn't he? She looked back down at his ivory face and saw his eyes were closed and his breathing was steady. He'd worn himself out. Carefully, she rested his head on the arm of the sofa and let him continue sleeping before dialling John's number.

"Hello?" John answered.

"John, its Mrs Hudson. I walked in on Sherlock without his shirt on and...dear God, John. What monster did that to him?" She asked through the hundreds of silent tears that rushed down her cheeks.

John was silent, trying to think of something to say to the poor woman on the other end of the phone. He couldn't come up with anything that didn't sound bad.

"Mrs Hudson, I'm...I'm sure Sherlock will tell you when he's ready and you ask." He replied, his voice holding many emotions.

"Okay but-but is Sherlock going to be alright?" Mrs Hudson inquired, nervously.

"I...I think he will be." John nodded.

"Good, he just looks so vulnerable it scares me." Mrs Hudson explained.

"I know." John admitted.

They hung up with a silent goodbye and Mrs Hudson's eyes wandered back to Sherlock. He looked just like an angelic child when he slept. His hair all tussled and his face relaxed for a change. How Mrs Hudson wished she could remove all the weights that sat upon that young man's shoulders. She wouldn't be able to last five minutes in his shoes, never mind a day. In the end, as much as Sherlock would hate to admit it, he was indeed human. He had emotions; he felt pain, sadness, happiness and remorse even when he did not show it. The world had not treated Sherlock Holmes very kindly and the least she could do was help the fragile man stay strong.

* * *

A few hours later, Sherlock woke up and saw one of Mrs Hudson's knitted blankets draped over him and a plate of biscuits on the coffee table. He wondered for a moment why he was on the sofa but then he remembered. Mrs Hudson... she _knew. _She'd rocked him to sleep. He'd shown a weakness.

He pushed the blanket off of his thin frame and shivered at the sudden coldness. He shredded his dressing gown again and gingerly pulled on his grey t-shirt and pulled out a random book from the bookshelf before settling on the sofa. He nibbled on the biscuit and began the book in a quest to keep his powerful and fast mind at bay. When John returned from work he was surprised and amused to see Sherlock hunched up on the sofa, reading a book. John opened his mouth to tease.

"Shut up." Sherlock snapped, a hint of a smirk on his face.

He threw the book aside and hacked John's laptop.

"Oi!" John shouted when he saw.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and John threw the union jack pillow at his head. They both looked at each other, slightly annoyed but more than happy that they had just had a joking convocation in spite of everything that had happened and was happening to Sherlock physically and mentally. John opened the fridge to make a cup of tea and saw that the last of the milk had been used.

"Why can't you ever just buy the damn milk?" He smirked and Sherlock sniggered.

Sherlock stretched and the joking atmosphere was gone. John saw the clear M carved into Sherlock's wrist. The mark of Moriarty.

* * *

_A/N Not very action-packed but I love Mrs Hudson so I just had to get her in there somewhere. I'm thinking about putting more Lestrade in because I do think he is a great character. Again, I am sooo sorry for not updating but I hope this chapter makes up for the wait. Probably not. Also have you all heard that we have to wait until 2017 for the next series? Even the thought of it makes me want to cry. Please R&amp;R._


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